


The SilverFlint Mixtape. Vol 1

by vowelinthug



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-06 07:57:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8741533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vowelinthug/pseuds/vowelinthug
Summary: fics originally posted to tumblr for H/C dialogue promptsrated M for mature. some fics have bad language, some fics have erections. life is like a box of chocolates, etc etc





	1. “Oh god, you’re bleeding”

**Author's Note:**

> set during 3x5, for [allie](http://karategirl448.tumblr.com)

After Howell had found Flint’s blade, Billy had shoved it into Silver’s palm and said, “If he fails, we’re all dead.”

Curling his fingers over the steel, Silver heard the and  _it’ll be all your fault_  loud and clear, but if Billy wasn’t going to voice it out loud, he saw no reason to either.

And for the rest of the night he’d held onto the small knife, face pressed against the bamboo bars, staring down at the Queen’s hut. It had been hours. The sun was beginning to color the sky. Presumably, if Flint had failed he’d have been sent back to them already, to slowly be killed like Ben Gunn’s old crew. Or if they’d already killed Flint, they most likely wouldn’t be so quiet about it. What better way to really drive home to the rest of them how truly fucked they were than parading around their Captain’s corpse?

So Flint was definitely alive still. There was cause to worry about that earlier, but all these hours later, he could relax.

But Silver needed to see him first.  _Then_  he could relax.

He must have dozed while keeping watch on the hut, which was a bad fucking idea. There were a hundred reasons why a man should not sleep standing up and Silver had a hundred and fucking one. But the sun seemed to appear in the sky like a torch being thrown into a pile of hay - in the blink of an eye everything was alight, bright, and warm, and there was Flint being helped back into that damn jacket of his. The cage doors were opened, but his crew looked to Silver to take that first step out. 

He wanted to kill them himself. Like taking a first step was so fucking  _easy_.

Their captors watched them stumble out with wary, unrepentant looks. Silver shot his men a glare that made it clear what would happen if anyone so much as grumbled at them. 

He reached to grab the rail of their staircase, felt a sudden sting, and that’s when he realized he still held Flint’s blade in his hand. He looked down at his hand, curious. He must have cut himself while he slept upright, the knife cutting across the inside of his four fingers like another set of knuckles. The blood had pooled and dried in his palm, tacky and covered in dirt, and even though practically every part of him was covered in dirt or blood or both, this made him grimace the most. He made sure to hide the knife though before making his way down the steps.

And then there was Flint in front of him, and he seemed more solid in the early dawn than he had these last few months. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were light and open. He seemed too tired to smile but there was a twitch in his cheek that suggested he was thinking about it. He  _thanked_  Silver. 

Silver thought he might pass out.

“Come,” said Flint. “We’ve got plenty to discuss.”

Now Silver wanted to pass out. It would be a great excuse to not have to discuss anything for awhile. He wanted to  _eat_ , he wanted to take off his boot, he wanted to wash his hands. He wanted to voice this all aloud and had in fact opened his mouth to do so, but then Flint glanced down at him like he was going to help him walk, and saw his hand. 

He frowned. “You’re bleeding.” He pulled Silver’s wrist up to inspect and Silver opened his hand instinctively, reopening the scabs on his fingers. Fresh blood began to drip down into his palm.

“You caught me red-handed,” Silver said. Flint gave him a look that said he was about to throw Silver back in a cage. But then he gestured to one of their former captors, asked for fresh water and a bandage, and tugged Silver into an empty hut instead.

“It’s fine,” Silver said, taking the opportunity to rest on a stool. He tried not to groan too audibly as the strain was removed from his leg. “It’s just a cut. It’ll heal on it’s own.”

“You’ll keep opening it up, it’ll get infected, and you’ll end up losing the hand,” Flint said, because he was one of those assholes who didn’t describe himself as a  _pessimist,_  but a  _realist_. “We’ll have to get you a hook.”

“Well, at least I’ll match,” said Silver, closing his eyes. “Did you know, before this happened, I was perfectly symmetrical? My God, I was beautiful.”

Flint didn’t say anything, and Silver didn’t open his eyes. He heard someone enter the hut, put something down, and leave them alone again. Sleeping in a chair was only slightly better than sleeping standing up, but what Silver wouldn’t give for a real pillow.

He jumped when something made contact with his forehead. He opened his eyes but his vision was obscured by the back of Flint’s hand. Silver blinked, and his eyelashes brushed against Flint’s thumb. He slid his hand down to rest on Silver’s cheek.

“You feel warm,” Flint said quietly. In his other hand he held a wet rag.

“ _You_  feel warm,” said Silver, because it felt as though the bones in Flint’s hand had been replaced with burning firewood.

“You might have a fever,” Flint said. “Once I bandage your hand I’ll go find Howell.”

Silver didn’t say that Howell really was the one who should be bandaging his hand, because Flint pressed the cloth into his neck, and cold water dripped down the front and back of his shirt, and his mind might have blanked out for a second with how good it felt.

When he came back to himself however long later, Flint had found another stool and was sitting in front of him closely. He was finishing cleaning up his hand with a different rag, gently brushing as though the whole surface of his palm were injured instead of just a couple fingers. He held Silver’s hand faceup as he worked, and his touch, though soft, still felt like an open flame on his skin. 

“How did you do this?” Flint asked without looking at him, still focused on the task.

“Howell found your blade,” Silver said softly, in case anyone was outside listening. “I must have gripped it too tightly by mistake. You know, when I suggested you put your efforts into convincing the Queen to our side, I hadn’t meant for you to go in completely defenseless.”

“If they’d found it, everything would have been lost no matter what I said,” said Flint, shrugging. Then he looked Silver in the eye. “Besides, if I’d known it was there, I might not have tried as hard to enact your plan.”

 _Your plan_  made something itch in his throat - a remaining anxiety over something which had already come to pass, like still wanting to scream even after the danger had gone. 

“It’s all one thing or another with you, isn’t it?”

Flint was still looking in Silver’s eyes, his hand now resting in Silver’s, bloodied rag pressed between their skin. “Guess so,” he said.

It shocked Silver to know that he had a point of reference for the look on Flint’s face. He’d seen it before that morning in Flint’s cabin, after Charles Town. When Flint’s hair was still long and Silver’s leg was newly short. Flint had looked at him like this, at least for a little while. It had been so brief he hadn’t thought he’d be able to miss it, but that brief taste of fondness from Flint only to have it snatched away was like a hunger only surpassed by three weeks in the Doldrums.

Flint had no more rags to dry Silver’s hand, so he took the corner of his jacket to wipe it down, even though it was just as dirty as everything else. The cuts on his fingers had stopped bleeding, but just as Flint said, they started to seep a little with every flex.

As Flint began wrapping his fingers together, still with that soft touch holding his hand in place, he asked Silver, “Did you mean it, before? Did you really not believe it would work?”

He’d told Flint not to take that the wrong way, and from his tone he hadn’t. There was no offense. He was genuinely curious. 

The desire to slip back into sleep was so strong, but Silver forced himself to keep looking into Flint’s eyes. This was what it meant, to be Flint’s equal. They’d both of them, together, stay awake through all of this. He could sleep when Flint slept.

“You and I both know the danger inherent in believing in something,” Silver said finally. “We know too well the costs.” 

Flint’s lips twitched again, that idea of a smile, and bowed his head to tie off the bandage. “I suppose we do.” 

Silver watched the knot form, watched Flint hold his hand loosely, watched Flint not move away. 

“For what it’s worth, though” said Silver, “I did hope.”

Flint smiled.


	2. “Please, don’t leave me alone”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set during 3x7, for [estefania](http://marsza.tumblr.com), rated E

“What’s that?”

“How  _good_  it feels.”

Silver turned away then, eyes gone, mind back in the tavern. Flint could see him living in that moment again, a sickly sort of wonder in his expression. It reminded him of how Silver had looked the time he’d accompanied Flint to see the Vasquez gold in the hull of Jack’s ship. Flint understood that look completely now: amazement, uncertainty, horror. The undeniable pleasure of a powerful act. Except Silver, in retrospect, had looked more ashamed in the presence of all that wealth, and had never visited it again. 

Silver sat on the bed now, face still splattered with Dufresne’s blood, and knew no shame.

With Silver facing away, Flint took the time to look Silver over. The others had said he’d been unharmed, but Flint had to check. Silver was breathing hard, the end of his stump red and inflamed, his other leg dangling down, hands curling into the bed and into his thigh to keep upright, but he looked, for the most part, fine.

Flint glanced him over again, and mentally tripped as his eyes passed over Silver’s crotch because, yes. Definitely hard.

Oh. It felt  _that_  kind of good.

Flint knew himself what happened when passions became aroused during fits of violence, both emotionally and physically. His cock got hard after a good fight, same as anyone, although he suspected it happened less to him than most men, given his history and his tragedies. He knew men found ways to satisfy the urge, whether alone or finding someone willing to fuck, but neither option held much interest to him. Besides, when it happened he was usually in the middle of leading his men somewhere or taking a ship, and couldn’t stop to find a private spot to jerk off. It would eventually fade on its own. 

The hand on Silver’s thigh twitched higher. Flint saw Silver’s thumb rub once along the front of his cock.

“I’ll bring Howell back in,” Flint said, taking a step back quickly. “He needs to finish with your leg.”

“No, please,” said Silver. “Don’t go.”

If Flint had heard in Silver’s voice that low, pleased rumble again, he would have left. If he had heard pain, he would have left, too. But what he heard in those words was a quiet desperation, a  _need_ , and it made him stop short.

“Don’t leave me alone,” Silver continued, eyes wide and insistent. “Once you leave, all the good will go with you, and I’ll be here alone in the dark with this goddamned  _leg_  and I can’t do that, I can’t. Not now, not now. Please – stay.” And his other hand grabbed Flint’s jacket and it was so unexpected he didn’t stop Silver tugging him closer. 

But Silver just held onto his jacket while his other hand now actively rubbed himself through his trousers. They weren’t touching. This close, Flint could see over Silver’s shoulder a bottle of rum and a glass beside it, still wet on the inside. It was the way of hard men to ease pain with liquor, one Howell encouraged with his more stubborn patients. And Silver was the worst of them.

“ _Silver_.” He tried to inflect reason into his tone, some sanity, but he wasn’t feeling any of it himself. Flint knew he should back away, but told himself the shock of it was what kept him in place. The truth was, no one had thought him to be any kind of good in a long time. Certainly not all the good. And he had come in here with the intention to comfort Silver. He wanted to honor that, in whatever form.

Besides, Silver didn’t look drunk. Howell wouldn’t let him get drunk just for this. Instead he looked  _wild_. He looked overwhelmed, unmoored, scrambling to connect to something in Flint’s eyes, so he kept them locked on Silver as the other man rubbed his cock.

“I thought I would pretend at being Captain Flint when I first made my way into the tavern, to do what you were going to do,” Silver said, still fisting Flint’s jacket. His hand slipped into his trousers but he just worked himself inside, for which Flint was marginally grateful. He didn’t think he had the strength right now to actually see Silver’s cock. “But then I walked inside and  _God_ , I could just see you sitting at one of those tables. I pictured you – watching me the whole time, watching me speak, watching – everyone hearing me speak  _for you_. Watching that –  _fuck, oh_  – that  _fucker_ approach me, watching me crush his –  _fucking_  –  _face_ , oh  _God_.” 

His hand was speeding up, locked in the dark of his trousers. He struggled to keep looking at Flint, his eyes fluttering with every thrust. Flint couldn’t just stand there any longer, hands useless at his sides, but he couldn’t just  _touch_  Silver yet, not like this. 

So he turned just a little, Silver still holding onto him, and cupped the back of Silver’s head, tangling his fingers in those curls. He pulled Silver closer, letting Silver lean on his chest. 

“You did it perfectly,” Flint murmured into his hair, stroking softly his neck. “You did everything so well, Silver. You did so  _good_.”

Silver’s shoulders slumped immediately with a loud sigh at Flint’s words, and his hand slowed for a maybe half a second before speeding up, hips lifting frantically. Flint held onto to him, trying to keep him steady, and he realized he was also hard. Silver’s harsh breaths traveled all the way up Flint’s neck, but seemed to light every spark in his body. He’d only have to move a fraction to find some friction up against Silver’s other leg, which still hung over the side of the bed. But just like when he got hard after a fight, he felt it could wait until another later time. This moment here wasn’t about him getting off. 

Silver came with a wild, keening cry, face pressed into Flint’s open collar. Flint held him through it, whispering so closely into Silver’s skin they just turned to kisses, smooth and dry against his temple, his ear, his cheekbone. 

It took a few moments for Silver to pry his fingers loose from Flint’s jacket, to pull himself off his chest, but when he was ready Flint let him go. Silver tugged his hand out of his trousers without looking at Flint, and he seemed almost shy in the way he subtly wiped his hand on one of his old bandages. 

“Hey,” Flint said, and Silver looked at him. His eyes were wet but clear. He still looked amazed, uncertain, though minimal horror, probably just from coming in his pants. Flint studied him hard, but still saw no shame, which made him relax somewhat. “Are you okay if I go get Howell now? I need you up and about tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Silver said quietly. He balled up the bandage anxiously. “I’m fine now.” Then he added, “Thank you.”

He said it with finality, with an assumption that this would be the matter’s end, and so many things in Flint’s life had ended without his say-so, and he’d had fucking enough of that. So he reached out, squeezed the back of Silver’s neck, tugging him closer ever so slightly, and Silver reaction was  _beautiful_. He straightened, his eyelids fluttered, and his mouth dropped open in a long moan. He swayed into Flint, making the hint of teeth flash in the dim candlelight.

“Get some rest,” Flint ordered softly, running a finger along Silver’s bottom lip. “There’s always more good work for tomorrow.”


	3. “Because I care about you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set during 3x10, for [elle](http://ellelan.tumblr.com)

Night on Maroon Island was a living thing, the darkness filled with all the noise of a thousand things hidden in the earth, in the trees, in the air. Leaves swayed, twigs snapped, streams babbled. It all seemed so loud to Silver, sitting in silence across from Flint by the fire. 

Flint hung his head, thumb massaging his palm as though it ached him. A frown was stuck on his face, still imagining - Silver was sure - all the ways the following fight could fuck up for them. 

Silver’s own mind had strayed from Flint’s story to voice his own worries, his own plans, but with the rum warming his insides and the fire warming everything else, he inevitably drifted back to the past. 

He tried to picture Flint young and in love, but it wouldn’t stick. That man, McGraw - with pale skin and clean hands and, Christ, hair probably longer than Silver’s - might as well have been a character in a made-up tragedy. He was Hamlet’s father, the wronged ghost whispering in Flint’s ear how every act of violence was justified. Or perhaps his Thomas was the ghost, and McGraw was just another dead body on the stage. 

“We should get back,” Silver said. Flint jerked like he’d forgotten Silver was there. “If anyone stumbles on us now, they’ll know exactly where we buried the chest and you’ll just have to move it again.”

Flint smiled at him. It wasn’t that same wide, toothy grin he’d given Silver earlier, which was good, because Silver didn’t think he could take that twice in one night. But this small, soft twitch of lips was just as bad. It was comfortable, easy. It made Silver’s heart fall like an anchor.

They doused the fire and headed back onto the trail. There was only sudden light from a shaft of moonlight through the trees to guide them. He’d gotten better at walking on the rocky terrain, but he didn’t say anything about Flint’s hand when it curled around his elbow to steady him.

“Would he still have wanted you to take the pardons?” Silver found himself asking. “After all that’s happened to you, to – Mrs. Barlow?”

“Thomas?” The name slipped out of Flint’s mouth with such reverence, a sacred word, and Silver didn’t doubt it was just a reflex. The only way Flint knew how to say it. 

Silver nodded. “You described him as compassionate,” he said. “Would he understand you now, your motives to reject what he once wanted to offer men like us?”

Their boots crunched through dead leaves. Flint took a long moment before he answered. “He was not unsympathetic to – men like us,” he said slowly. “But we were both naive. We thought all men had their reasonings to join this life, but that it was just circumstantial. Irrelevant. Things that could be easily dismissed,  _pardoned_. He –  _we_  – thought England’s problem was piracy. We didn’t know it was the other way around. We didn’t know then that men like  _us_  are justified in our actions, and they responsible for theirs.”  
  


“Yes, okay.” Silver patted the hand on his arm. “You’re going to get yourself worked up again, and then you won’t be able to sleep.”

Flint huffed. He was silent again before saying, quietly, “I’ve often wondered what he’d think about me now. The man I’ve become. If he’d still…” He trailed off, his fingers loosening just slightly on Silver’s arm.

Silver pressed down on Flint’s hand, keeping him there. He even stumbled a little, just to tighten that hold.

“Well,” Silver said, just this side of too loud. “I don’t think he would have liked me at all.”

He felt Flint look at him, and he heard Flint smiling again when he said, “No?”

Silver hummed. “He sounded painfully optimistic, to be honest. I’m afraid he’d find me much too cynical.”

Flint chuckled, bumping his arm into Silver’s. “He would have enjoyed arguing with you, though. God knows you do it enough with me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don–” Silver stopped. “You prick.”

Flint laughed, a sound as wild as the night around them. It echoed out into the dark. Silver hadn’t really been paying attention when Jack had lead him to Flint, so he had no idea where they were. They were adrift in their own private ocean, tethered together in a black that went out forever. But then Flint tugged him to the right, reminding him of the path. At least Flint knew the way.

“Why did you tell me about – James McGraw?” Silver had been about to say  _Thomas Hamilton_ , but he had just been a part of Flint’s history. McGraw was everything. “It’s a hell of a thing to hand to someone.”

“I told you why,” Flint said, eyeing the trail for the next marker. “I thought you deserved to know.”

“Yes but  _why_.” Silver didn’t realize it was weighing on him until he said it out loud. “Surely I’m not the first person to ask after your story. The rumors people tell about you at least suggests they discuss it amongst themselves. Why did you tell  _me_? Did Gates know?”

“No,” said Flint softly. “I’ve never told anyone before.”

“Then why me?” Silver asked. “It can’t just be because I asked you nicely.” 

“Are you thinking you might use it against me?” Flint asked, slightly sarcastic. “Use it to  _be my end_?”

“I wouldn’t.” The mere idea made Silver’s skin crawl. “I’m just trying to understand you.” It was actually a comfort of sorts. Flint had told him everything, yet there were still things about him Silver wanted to figure out,  _needed_  to figure out. 

“That’s why I told you,” Flint said. They’d stopped walking, and Flint was facing him pointlessly, because the canopy of leaves overhead blocked any light to be found. It was just one darkness staring into another. “Because you’ve never tried to change the person I am. You’ve only ever tried to know me, and that perhaps began as a way to undermine me, but I don’t believe that’s the motive anymore. Because without Miranda, and with the last guilty parties dead and gone, I was the only one to know the whole truth and I couldn’t stand beneath the weight of it alone anymore. You can stand with me, because you realize the power of stories, both in their telling and in their knowing, and I thought you would keep it safe, keep  _him_  safe. And because I – care. About you.”

It was fortunate Flint still held his arm, because that admission would have knocked Silver over. It was more shocking that knowing Flint used to serve in the Royal British Navy. It was more shocking than knowing Flint had a loving, meaningful affair with a married woman and a married man. Silver really hoped he wouldn’t be Flint’s end, because if Flint insisted on  _saying_  things like that to him all the time, he had no chance of ever understanding him, not in a hundred years.

“A moment ago, you were questioning whether we were even friends,” Silver said quietly.  

Flint shifted, perhaps shrugging. He was either thinking hard about what he wanted to say next, or regretting what had already been said. Silver could feel light puffs of breath against his cheek, even and warm.

“I’m still not sure we are,” Flint said honestly. “I don’t really have  _friends_. Miranda wasn’t a friend.”

“Thomas,” said Silver, “wasn’t either.”

“No.” Flint adjusted his fingers on Silver’s arm but didn’t release him. “I wanted you to know because I do. Care. So. That’s why I told you.” 

Silver closed his eyes, even though there was nothing to see, and let out a long, shaky breath. He raised a hand and blindly reached up for Flint. He touched his temple and slid his palm back, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt anything as soft as the short hair against his skin. He could feel Flint sag just slightly under his hand.

“Christ,” said Silver, eyes still closed. “This is why I prefer to gather information via subterfuge instead of outright asking. Harder to get surprised that way.”

Flint turned his head until Silver’s hand was pressing against his cheek. Silver’s fingers curled against his jawline, the right place to pull him closer, if he wanted to.

But Flint just stayed with his lips against Silver’s thumb for a moment before moving back. His hand stayed wrapped around Silver’s elbow, pulling him back along the trail.

“So stop fucking questioning me,” Flint said, but he sounded amused. “Focus on Benjamin Hornigold and the fucking British Navy on our heels. We can discuss the merits of friendship or otherwise later.”

It seemed to Silver that their tread was lighter than before, the noise gentler, less threatening. He didn’t know the hour, but perhaps this was the time of night when even hidden things slept.

When they finally caught the firelight of the Maroon camp, Silver asked, “Do I really question you that much?”

“All the fucking time,” said Flint.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“What do I question you about?”

“Everything I fuc–” Flint stopped. “Asshole.”

“What’s wrong?”

“ _Enough_.”

“Was it something I said?” Silver asked.

“You are definitely,” said Flint, “not my fucking friend.”


	4. “Don’t touch me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set between 2x10 and 3x1 for [lunasky3](http://lunasky3.tumblr.com/)

* * *

 

Flint found Howell and Dooley in quiet conversation outside his cabin when he made his way back onto the Warship. They’d been back in Nassau’s harbor for a few days, time spent in negotiations with Rackham and Vane over the gold. He was tired. He was pissed. He wanted to go to bed. He didn’t want to speak to anyone.

Both men jerked when Flint approached, startled. They were blocking his door.

“Sorry, Captain,” said Howell. “We didn’t - uh. Recognize you, for a moment.”

Flint curled his hands into a fist to stop himself from rubbing his newly shaved head. He’d done it their first night back, when he’d seen Nassau and realized there was no home waiting for him anymore. He liked how it looked, despite it taking some while to get used to. He thought he looked skeletal, otherworldly, unsettling. People avoided his gaze now. Or they never looked at him for too long. He liked that.

Flint said nothing, just reached between them to open his door. But he’d only touched the handle when Dooley said, “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you, Captain.”

Flint was about to say something scathing, something likely regrettable, when he heard a crash behind the shut door, and without thinking he asked, “He’s awake?”

Dooley shrugged. Howell said, “In and out, sir.”

Silver was the reason they still held the Warship, even though the  _Walrus_  was ready to set sail and technically this ship belonged to Vane now. But about a week ago, after Silver had first awoken and Flint had told him he’d been made Quartermaster, Silver had taken a nasty turn for the worst. He was set upon by a terrible fever, and wouldn’t stay conscious for longer than a few minutes. Even though they were back in town, Howell said it would likely do him more harm than good to try and move him. So SIlver stayed on the ship, and someone would be on hand to try and keep him cooled, comfortable. Someone other than Flint. 

Flint had thought, for a brief moment as they sailed out of Charles Town, that at least now he was beyond horrors. There was nothing left to touch him anymore. He should have know that was a stupid fucking notion.

“We were able to get some medicine in him, and laudanum,” Howell continued, bending down to pick up two buckets of water Flint hadn’t noticed at their feet. “But I think it’s starting to make him hallucinate. He’s been – talking.”

Flint snorted. “Since when is that unusual?”

Howell and Dooley exchanged a quick, uncomfortable look. “He’s rambling,” said Howell. “Gibberish. I’m afraid the fever might have begun to affect his brain. He’s –”

“He’s speaking in tongues, sir,” Dooley said in a rush.

Flint’s eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”

“Tongues, you know.” Dooley shifted awkwardly. “Like the devil.”

“Enough.” There were enough rumors about Flint congregating with Satan. It wouldn’t do to have his Quartermaster afflicted with the same. “If I knew you had knowledge of religion or of every speaking language on Earth, Dooley, and if I thought you knew exactly where Mr. Silver hails from, then maybe I’d take such nonsense into account. But since I’m well aware you know, in fact, nothing at all, I won’t hear anymore about it. Is that clear?” 

Dooley nodded, but looked a little pissed. Another crash from inside the cabin, and Howell moved forward when Flint put a hand out to stop him. 

“You need to rest, too,” Flint said, removing the buckets of cold seawater from his hands. “I’ll call you if I need anything.”

“Are you sure? He’s a bit – unstable right now.”

“Have a good rest, Howell.” Flint glared at them until they finally retreated, and let himself inside, kicking the door shut behind him. 

Silver, standing by Flint’s desk, turned at the door opening. His shirt was wide open, his chest dark, sweating, heaving in the late afternoon. The shirt didn’t have buttons all the way down; at some point Silver had just ripped it open. His hair was a black halo, wild and wide around his shining face. He looked glazed, yet seemed to be trying to focus, like a drunk attempting complicated navigations. The empty left pant leg hung horribly, dragging on the ground and Flint found he couldn’t look at it for very long. 

“Marcus?” Silver said, his voice rough from disuse. “What are you doing here?”

Slowly, Flint lowered the water to the ground and approached. “What the fuck are you doing moving around, Silver? Get back to the window.” He reached for Silver’s elbow.

Silver lurched back. “No, you mustn’t touch me, Marcus. No!” He shouted when Flint tried again. He hopped back, using the desk as a crutch, knocking the rest of Flint’s belongings to the floor. “Don’t touch me! If Father Grey catches us again, he’ll stick us back under the floorboards for even longer this time.”

Jesus Christ. Flint was too stunned to say anything, just watched Silver drag himself to the other of the desk. He stared intently at it, running his hands along the wood, up and down, side to side, as though reading something in the grain. 

The things Flint knew about John Silver he could count on one hand: he might have stayed at a boy’s home once, he didn’t like the ocean, and he couldn’t cook. A part of him wanted to hear more, to take advantage and learn every detail about the man in front of him, even if it’d mean feeling guilty later on. But he already felt guilty all the time, why not add one more thing to it? He didn’t even know where Silver was born. He didn’t even know what job he’d had originally on the ship where they’d found him. Flint kept himself closely guarded, but that never stopped Silver from seeing him all too well. He wanted to even the odds, just a little.

But Flint saw the way Silver’s arms tremored to keep himself upright on the desk, could even make out his heart thumping beneath his waxy chest. The greatest villain the world had ever known - felt bad.

He put his hands on the desk, near Silver’s hands, and bent his head to try and catch Silver’s eye. He wouldn’t look up. “Silver.” He still didn’t react, so Flint said, “ _John_.” 

Silver’s eyes slid all over Flint’s face like oil. He smiled. “What is it, Marcus? I’m trying to study.”

“Look at me,” Flint said. “ _Look_.”

Silver stared for a moment, taking him in, and then his eyes narrowed. “You’re not Marcus.”

“No,” Flint sighed with something like relief.

“Marcus is dead.”

“Oh,” said Flint. “I’m sorry.”

“Father Grey is dead, too. Don’t you remember?”

“No, Silver, I’m not–”

“You _do_ remember,” Silver insisted. He was still smiling, a lost-looking thing. “Remember how pleased we were when we found that hemlock in Doctor Foster’s garden?”

“Jesus Christ,” Flint said out loud this time. He moved swiftly around the desk before Silver had time to react. “You need to lie down, come on.”

“You’re right!” And suddenly Silver was falling into his arms, hands around his back, hot skin pressed all the way on him. “If Father Grey is dead, you can touch me again.” Silver licked a long line up Flint’s neck.

It was like being thrown into a volcano. There was just heat and fire hitting Flint on all sides, waves of it curling over his toes, seeping into his skin. He was just a sacrifice to some angry, confusing god. He hadn’t know it was possible to drown and burn at the same time.

It had taken one kind of strength to beat Singleton to death with a cannonball. It had taken another kind to sit silently on that platform in Charles Town beside Miranda’s corpse when all he’d wanted to do was rage to the Heavens until his voice or his body gave out. And it took something else completely to put both hands on Silver’s shoulders and pry him off.

He held him at arm’s length and basically shouted, “Silver! Focus.”

Silver blinked a few times, before the liquid in his eyes solidified somewhat. “Flint?”

“Yes.” Flint didn’t let go of him yet. “Are you –”

But Silver’s hands had moved to Flint’s head. At first Flint expected the worst, but then Silver pawed at his scalp, pushing him forward until his chin rested on his chest, muttering, “What happened to the rest of you?”

Flint shook the hands off. “For fuck’s sake,” he said, annoyed but reassured. “It’s a fucking haircut.”

“I don’t like it,” Silver said, sounding more lucid than he had in days. He looked around the room. “We’re still on the Warship?”

“Yes. But we’re back in Nassau.”

“I don’t – “ Silver started breathing hard again, still looking around the cabin. “I don’t want to be here. I shouldn’t be –”

“We can leave when you’re better,” said Flint, shuffling Silver as best he could back to the bed by the window. With just three legs between them he essentially just carried Silver. “Which means you need to rest.”

“Okay,” Silver said, collapsing onto the seat. He sat, staring at Flint with those watery eyes again. Flint was struck, suddenly, but how  _young_  Silver looked. How young he likely was. Christ, he was probably the same age Flint was when he’d met the Hamiltons, and even though he’d made his way up to Lieutenant and had seen battles by then, he’d still been so youthful, so unknowing. 

Flint hadn’t really thought of Silver as youthful, though. There was too much edge to him. But even when they were days at sea, even after being beaten by foul men, even after killing some of them, there had always been a sense of freshness about Silver – he was vibrant, the way the night sky was vibrant: dark and leading. Flint found himself hoping that quality hadn’t disappeared with the leg.

He pushed on Silver lightly to get him to lie back, and Silver went, eyes closed. But then all at once he reared back, nearly bashing into Flint’s forehead. “No!” he cried. “I don’t want this!”

“ _Silver_! Stop –”

“I said I don’t want this! I don’t fucking want this!” Silver was really fighting now, scratching and punching at Flint, trying to roll out of the bed away from him. Flint had to get one knee up on the seat to try and keep him from hurting himself. “I don’t want this! ¡No quiero esto! ¡No quiero esto, bastardo! ¡Hijo de puta, suéltame!”

“Silver!” Flint grabbed his face with both hands, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Relax! You’re okay! Uh, estas bien.”

“Captain?” Silver said, and the fight went out of him completely. He grasped Flint’s wrists. “You came, you’re here. You have to stop them, don’t let them take it. You need me – you need me to help you so you won’t let them take it, right?”

Flint swallowed hard. Silver’s stubbled felt sharp as daggers under his hands. “No one’s taking anything from you again,” he said softly. “You have my word.”

“Thank you.” Silver closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “Thank you. I knew you’d stop them. You need me.”

“We all need you,” Flint said, slowly pushed Silver back onto his pillow, “to get better. This ship, the crew – all need you.”

Silver lay back, eyes still closed. “And you…”

He pulled away from Silver and stood. “And me,” he said, because it looked like Silver was finally asleep and might not hear. “Get some rest.” 

He went to retrieve the buckets of cold seawater and behind him Silver said, “I know you.”

Flint sighed. “Yes, we’ve established that. I’m –” He turned around.

Silver was sitting up in bed, holding the largest knife Flint had ever seen. 

“You’re Samson,” he said.

“Jesus  _fucking_  Christ!” In two strides Flint was back to the window seat. He just wanted to get some goddamn rest. Maybe he really should have left this with Howell, gone to sleep in one of the hammocks in the bowels of the ship, down in that same room he and Silver had silently crawled through a century ago. He’d been avoiding Silver for many reasons – negotiations over the gold, Silver’s illness, his complete lack of desire to speak to anyone longer than he had to, Silver’s not-confession about his role in the Urca treasure which Flint had been unable to fully explore – but all those reasons had disappeared upon hearing a noise behind a closed door. He had  _missed_  Silver. He had been hit with a desire to fill that absence (especially as his life was full of them, now) but it’s possible he should have waited for when Silver wasn’t fucking insane anymore.

“Where did you even  _get_  that?” Flint asked, perching on the bed, “Give it to me.” He grasped the knife handle, but Silver’s hands covered his, squeezing it into his palm.

“It’s your jawbone, Samson,” Silver said, imploring, sincere. “You cut your hair, you idiot, you fucking idiot. Your beautiful hair, how will you slay the Philistines without it? Please, Samson, please take mine.” He bowed his head low, still holding Flint’s hands to the blade, wet mass of hair curtaining down his face. He voice was muffled but pleading, speaking into his knees, “Please take it. I’ve taken your strength, I  _stole_  it all, please take mine.”

Flint gently pulled his hands and the blade free from Silver’s sweating fingers. “You’ve taken nothing from me, Silver,” he said.

Face still bowed, Silver let out a loud, hysterical laugh – so high and desperate-sounding Flint thought it might have been a sob. Before Flint could react, Silver lifted his head and peered at Flint through his eyelashes. “Please. Let me pray then, Samson, let me pray for your strength to return. The lion comes any day now.”

“Silver –”

“ _Please_.”

Flint didn’t like God even when things were going well for him. When everything was shit like it was now, he only believed in the Man to have someone else to hate. But he found himself saying, “Okay, Silver. Okay.”

Silver wrapped his hands around Flint’s still holding the knife. He pressed his lips, his forehead, his lips again into Flint’s knuckles. “ _De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine. Domine, exaudi vocem meam,_ ” he murmured, “ _Fiant aures tuae intendentes, in vocem deprecationis meae_.”

Fuck. Was that Latin? No wonder Dooley thought he was speaking in tongues. Possession by the devil would probably be better regarded among pirates than Silver being a Catholic, however. 

He let Silver pray a little longer, but it seemed like he could go on all night this way, and Flint had a lot of strength, he could admit, but he wasn’t  _that_  strong. He pulled his hand loose and threw the knife across the cabin, heard it skittering across the wood, and lifted Silver up by the shoulders. “You have to  _rest_. I need you, remember? And I need you with your mind intact, not melted and descending into madness. Please rest.”

Silver’s eyes were wet with unshed tears. He sniffed once and rubbed his nose with the back of his arm. But he finally nodded and said, “You won’t cut my hair?”

“No,” said Flint. “I’m not cutting your hair.”

Silver brushed at the strands sticking to his face with two fists. “It’s too hot,” he whined.

Flint sighed. “Inch forward,” he said, and moved to sit behind Silver. He pulled an old ribbon out of his pocket, one he no longer needed,  and gathered up Silver’s hair in a loose tail. He tied it low on the back of Silver’s neck so as not to ache him if and when he finally slept.

Suddenly, Silver fell backwards against him, resting his head on Flint’s shoulder. Flint was still trying to tie the ribbon and now his hands were trapped in Silver’s hair. 

“You need me?” he asked again, voice low.

“I need you,” said Flint, equally low, because goddamn it, he did. “I wouldn’t be here now without you.”

“But you don’t  _want_  to be here,” Silver pointed out, closing his eyes once more. “ _I_  don’t want to be here.  _Why_  are we still here, Captain?”

Flint also closed his eyes and turned his face so his lips rested against Silver’s hair. He smelled of sick, of Howell’s medicines, of sweat. Flint thought he could just drift away right there and sleep for a thousand years. “Where else do we have to go?” 

He didn’t really expect an answer, but he was sort of hoping for one. 

Silver had started to doze on him, but he was too hot along Flint’s clothed body for him to actually shut down and sleep himself. He shifted Silver to one side as softly as he could as he extricated himself. Silver murmured nonsensically the whole time, but looked significantly more comfortable lying on his back.

Flint hushed him. “You need to cool down,” he said. “You won’t do that lying on top of me.” 

“Don’t leave,” Silver whispered, eyes still closed.

“I won’t.” He retrieved the bucket of water and pressed a cool rag against Silver’s forehead. He left it there and placed another one on his collarbone. “You’re in my fucking room.”

Silver’s lips twitched up, just once, before he finally fell asleep.

Flint ended up sleeping on the floor, propped up against the window seat. His back throbbed, his neck ached. The hilt of his own knife had dug into his side all night. He hadn’t even gotten to take off his boots. He didn’t feel rested. His mind was overheated and sore, and at that moment he wanted nothing more than to strap a cannonball to his bootlaces, jump overboard, and find the deepest depths of the dark blue sea to finally rest.

He blinked into the bright morning light filling his cabin, and squinted at the hand resting on his shoulder.

He couldn’t see Silver from this position. Only the hand. He couldn’t feel it through his layers. It just sat there, pale and so  _still_ , lifeless like a piece of broken coral. He didn’t know if when he touched that limp skin, if it would still be burning hot with fever or cold now, like a corpse. 

Flint stared at Silver’s hand for what felt like a long time. He kept staring until the fingers curled into his jacket.

* * *

 


	5. “I heard you scream. Nightmares again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for [frau_kali](https://tmblr.co/mnWq8Gpbj4-fFOHMD4Sd_IA), inspired by an amazing series from [cynthia](http://archiveofourown.org/series/490219) and oh look, now i have the link open i may as well just read it again!
> 
> set after 3x06, rated E

* * *

 

Silver had taken to wandering the bowels of the ship in the middle of the night without his iron leg. It had started in the Doldrums. While every other man not on duty slept to conserve what little energy they all had, Silver walked, comfortable in the darkness to move with the crutch. Hunger pains warred with his usual leg pain warred with the turmoil over his mad, suicidal captain, and the focus of pacing with the crutch – helped. As long as no one was around.

Tonight, he walked for other reasons. The treatment he’d received from Madi’s people had soothed his leg, and without the boot on, the stump was almost free of pain. They were heading back to Nassau with food in their bellies and in their stores, and Flint no longer looked at him like an enemy, like an outsider. He finally felt a  _part_  of this.

It was the  _this_  that made him stroll the empty corridors of the ship two hours past midnight. They were heading back home, new allies on board, new plan in their heads, ready to wage a war against the whole of bloody England for their freedom. He tried to remember when he’d signed up to be a soldier in an unwinnable fight, and was coming up empty-handed. Silver didn’t  _do_ unwinnable. Either he knew he was going to win, or he wasn’t going to fight. 

Yet, here he was, at the forefront of this impossible thing, and here he was, outside Captain Flint’s door. No one except the man himself would be caught on this part of the ship at this time, so he knew no one would find Silver there, pacing on one leg.

Silver stared at the door, wondering not for the first time how it was Flint seemed able to compel him in such a way. He  _knew_  when it was happening, too. He knew how Flint worked people, he recognized it easily when Flint was manipulating him, but Silver let it happen every time. Welcomed it, almost, if it meant keeping his attention – his  _interest_.

All that, he understood, but the  _why_  escaped him, as it did every night. The wooden door held no answers, and so he was just about to continue his walk when he heard it.

A moan, muffled behind the door. It sounded pained, lost, as did the softer one that followed, which Silver only heard by leaning in closer. 

Silver had heard those sounds before, when he’d shared a room with the Captain after Charles Town. He’d often be ripped from his own anguished rest to Flint in the throes of nightmares. Silver had been helpless to do anything other than listen to the soft cries, the muttered pleas, the agonized yells from a man who’d too often seemed incapable of such torments. After all, for as long as Silver had known him, Flint had tried so hard to seem inhuman, and what was more human than a nightmare?

Flint had always awoken angry after a nightmare, more vicious, more dangerous. The haunted look present on his face, his hands permanently curled over like claws. But he’d been doing so well recently. He’d taken Silver’s advice, he’d chosen to  _live_. He had purpose again, a job to do. Silver didn’t want him to lose any of that progress to dreamt up demons. 

Making his decision, he grabbed the door handle and made his way inside. He probably should have knocked, he realized once he’d crept in. Knocking is what every other fucking sane person would have done.

Flint wasn’t asleep.

He also hadn’t noticed Silver’s silent entry, which was probably the only reason Silver still had his life. There was only one candle lit, only a thin shaft of light coming through the windows, and Silver’s eyes took their time to adjust to fully examine what he was seeing.

Flint was on his bed. Completely fucking naked.

He was too preoccupied to notice Silver’s entry, or to notice Silver closing the door, but to be fair Silver was also too preoccupied with staring to realize he’d closed the door, too. 

Flint kneeled on his bed. His whole body was sheened with a thin layer of sweat. He hadn’t put back on all the weight he’d lost from the Doldrums but he’d filled out a little, and Silver could see the flat of his belly rise and fall with each panted breath. He loosely held his jutting cock in one hand but his strokes were idle, as though a second thought. If he turned his head forward he’d be looking right at Silver, but he didn’t. His eyes were trained behind him, looking down, and once Silver saw the three fingers Flint was plunging into his asshole, he didn’t blame the man for being focused. 

Christ. Silver had never gotten this hard this quickly, not even the time when he was thirteen and had accidentally stumbled into a brothel. He only had the one hand to work with and he could either rub himself or bite his hand to keep from moaning out loud, and he knew which one would save his life. He dug his teeth into his skin, hard enough to draw blood, but a small moan still escaped. Fortunately it was swallowed by Flint’s much louder groan as he spread his knees wider, fucking himself on his own hand. 

Beneath the cloud of red lust fogging his mind, Silver had to marvel at the man’s audacity. Here they were, in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by cutthroat pirates, and here was their Captain, fully naked, riding his fingers behind an unlocked door. He was either incredibly brave or incredibly reckless, but then the same could be said about the man who’d snuck into the room to watch.

Suddenly Flint stopped. He still didn’t look around, but he gave his cock one last squeeze before letting go entirely. He also withdrew his fingers, and Silver nearly came himself at the whimper Flint made. But then Flint grabbed something beside his foot with one shining hand and Silver risked taking one step forward because he had to see.

In Flint’s hand he held a dildo, made of a soft red leather. Silver nearly swallowed his fist. His whole body felt on fire, felt like he might burn the whole of the ship around him just by standing there, and to be honest he would have relished in it, for the flames would be the perfect light by which to see Flint spread his ass open and slide the dildo inside.

Flint let out a long, aching breath, dropping his head to his chest. Now he would only have to open his eyes to see Silver standing there. But Flint’s whole world seemed to be centered on the thick toy slowly sliding inside him. He rose up on his knees and braced with one hand on the mattress. It probably wasn’t the best angle to hold onto the dildo, it probably hurt his wrist twisting it back to keep hold. But Flint was nothing if not a problem-solver, a fact Silver always appreciated but especially did now, as he watched Flint hold the toy in place while he fucked himself back on it. 

On some level Silver knew there was no way out of this. A momentary touch of grace had allowed him to enter the room unnoticed, but there was no way he could move out the room without catching Flint’s attention unless he went when Flint was preoccupied. But God himself couldn’t keep him from turning away now. Silver knew he would likely die before the sun rose, and as he watched come leak from Flint’s red cock untouched, he found he easily made peace with that fact.

But then the high whines coming from Flint’s throat changed, the harsh breathing turning to  stuttered words, half formed in his open mouth, things that sounded like “ _God_ ” and “ _Oh_ ” and “ _Fuck_ ” and “ _Sil_ –” and Silver was so convinced he was going to die anyway he took another step forward and Flint opened his eyes.

He stared at Silver, who was still standing in mostly darkness. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes before they widened in surprise. Silver felt a little guilty for a second, because Flint looked so confused, like he was staring at a dream. But the feeling was fucking mutual, so Silver took another step closer to the candlelight, his crutch thumping softly on the wood.

Flint hadn’t removed the dildo from his asshole but his hips had stopped moving once he’d realized Silver was actually in the room. His chest still rose with harsh pants, his cock still hanging hard and heavy between his legs, but otherwise Flint seemed frozen in place. Silver didn’t know if Flint was waiting for him to say something, but he honestly had no words, and it seemed like Flint felt the same. John Silver and James Flint, for the first time, had nothing to say.

But then Silver saw something flash in Flint’s bright green eyes as he looked Silver up and down, and this was something else Silver knew about his Captain to be true: when words failed him, actions would always suffice. Without looking away from him, Flint’s hips began to move again, although now he also moved his hand, thrusting the dildo in deeper. His eyelids fluttered but he didn’t break eye contact. It felt like a challenge. 

For fuck’s sake. Silver thought he’d already proved himself to Flint, but it looked like he needed another reminder. In three strides he was to the side of the bed, removing his fist from his teeth. He grabbed Flint by the back of the neck, hauled him up and kissed him hard. Flint opened for him immediately, slipping his tongue in like spilling a secret.

Silver dropped his crutch, knocked Flint’s other hand away and grabbed the base of the dildo, pulling it back some before driving it back in. Flint groaned into Silver’s mouth, jerking forward, trying to keep pace with each thrust. He clung to Silver’s jacket, kissing until he couldn’t anymore, breaking away to groan wetly into Silver’s ear.

“Can I–” Silver panted, still fucking him hard and even with the toy, “Let me, please Captain,  _let me_ –”

“Fuck,” said Flint, who was already unbuckling Silver’s belt. “Yes, fuck,  _now_.” He pulled Silver’s cock out of his trousers, stroked him once like he just had to. Silver removed the dildo with one quick motion and dropped it on the bed, because he had to get his cock in Flint immediately before this all ended too soon. 

Flint moaned at the loss but wasted no time turning around on his knees to spare Silver the movement. Silver propped his bad leg on the bed and spread Flint’s asscheeks wide, thumbing gently at his stretched asshole, shining with oil, puffed from use. Silver wasn’t a praying man, he didn’t waste time wishing for things, but Christ, he thought he might give his other leg if it meant the sun would rise in that instant, to give him a better look at this sight.

Flint whined, head dropping, pushing back onto his fingers. It was probably the closest to begging Silver was going to get. He took his cock in one hand and lined himself up and began to sink inside. Silver still didn’t know if he’d survive this encounter, but now he was equally unsure of what would kill him, the man himself or the tight, hot grip around his cock.

Silver tried to keep it slow until Flint let out a low growl, which was the only warning he got before Flint pushed back, bottoming out completely. They both moaned loudly, Silver trying to stifle it with Flint’s neck. Flint of course didn’t even bother trying to keep quiet. They began to move in tandem, pulling back and pushing forward, every force met with force as the bed creaked and swayed like the sea.

“What the fuck,” Flint gasped, throwing his head back, “were you thinking – coming into – my  _room_?”

“I heard you – fuck.” Silver gripped Flint’s hip tightly, grinding up into him, “I thought –  _oh_  – I thought were having a nightmare.” 

“ _I’m having one right now_ ,” Flint groaned. One of his arms slipped from the bed with the force of Silver’s thrust and he struggled to catch himself.

Silver said nothing in response, but wrapped his arm around Flint’s waist and hauled him up, pressing his bare back against Silver’s fully clothed chest. Fuck, he hadn’t even taken his jacket off. He thought Flint might like that, though, the way he rubbed against the coarse material, resting his head on Silver’s shoulder. The position made it harder for Flint to fuck back on Silver’s cock, the grip Silver had made him stay there and just take it, and from this angle Silver could see Flint wasn’t averse to that either. 

“Touch yourself, Captain,” Silver hissed into his ear. “Do I have to do everything around here?”

“You fucking –  _shit_ ,” Flint moaned, but grabbed his leaking cock immediately. He worked himself at an uneven pace, faltering every time Silver struck him at that perfect spot inside. Silver had no idea how long Flint had been at it before he’d snuck into the cabin, but it must have been a while at least, because it only took a few strokes before Flint came, hot ropes of come spilling high onto his flushed chest with another long, punched out groan.

“Christ, you sound so fucking  _needy_ , Captain,” Silver said, moving erratically, completely undone. “Sound so  _good_ , fuck, how could I have mistaken those noises for anything else?” 

Flint answered by squeezing down tight on Silver’s cock, his own hips still jerking weakly, and Silver saw white as he came inside him, burying his teeth into skin once more, this time the soft spot below Flint’s ear.

It took him a moment after coming to finally stop moving, unable to steady himself, but Flint solved that problem by collapsing face first into the bed. With his arm still hooked around his waist and his precarious balance, Silver fell with him, managing to roll a little to the side to avoid completely crushing him. His cock slipped out of Flint, but he didn’t have the strength to tuck himself back in. Flint was completely naked. Silver still felt more exposed.

“Because you’re a fucking idiot, that’s how,” Flint said, muffled into the bed mat. He turned his face to look at Silver. There was a new expression on his face, one Silver had never seen before. He’d seen Flint happy. He’d seen Flint angry. He’d never before seen Flint  _trying_  to look angry, and failing. Silver supposed that could have been exhaustion. The hour was late, and he’d just been fucked to hell and back. No man was strong enough to control their face after such an excursion. “What the fuck were you doing, wandering around outside my cabin?” 

Silver shrugged, still panting. “Taking a walk,” he said. “I was thinking.”

Flint raised an eyebrow. “Thinking about what?”

With his cock still out in the open, there was never a better time for honesty. “You,” Silver said. His heart was finally returning to its normal beat. He trailed one finger up Flint’s bare arm.

Flint shivered at the contact, but kept his eyes steady on him. “And are you still thinking about me?” he asked.

Silver watched his own fingers as they moved up to Flint’s shoulder, across his collarbone, down his chest, still covered in drying come. He marvelled at his own audacity. How reckless he felt. How brave. “Oh, Captain,” he said. “Whenever am I  _not_?”

* * *

 


End file.
